


The First Time It Happened

by Useless_Fanfictions



Series: Why Can't You Just Tell the Truth!? [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming In Pants, Crying, Crying Dean Winchester, Curious Sam Winchester, Dean tries to fight John, Dry Humping, Father/Son Incest, Hurt Dean Winchester, Little Sam tries to help, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Rape, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless_Fanfictions/pseuds/Useless_Fanfictions
Summary: Dean sighed, “Yes, Sam?” He put down his fork and rested his right arm on the table along with the other, meeting Sam’s gaze.“Where is Dad?” It’s a question that forms on Sam’s tongue and tastes familiar. He’s asked it a lot in the past. That never stops him from asking again though.Dean couldn’t answer the question because all he could think about was what had happened when Dad got home last. Sammy hadn’t been there, he hadn’t seen… Dean takes a deep breath. He puts up a mental blockade, but it's useless. The memory is imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, he tastes it before bed each night and he feels it when he showers. The memory won't leave him the fuck alone.Or,The one where Dean keeps the truth from his brother to protect this kid's innocence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm finally back and writing again after my unplanned and unwarned hiatus. I wanted to do something really angsty but short, somehow father/son rape decided to be it. As mentioned above, this is non-consensual, so if that is not what you would like to read, then please turn back now. 
> 
> For now, there is only this one part written, however, I do have a lot of ideas for possibly a series? I don't know yet. I have a lot of ideas in my head for a lot of things. So we'll see where this goes!

**i**

When Sammy was 10 and Dean was still freshly 15, Dad was gone and Dean was there. Sam had gotten used to this life, it happened every other week. Sometimes for longer periods than a week. This particular time Dad had been working on the fifth day. 

“Dean,” Sam said, his legs swinging back and forth from where he sat in the non-sturdy chair at the poor kitchen table. He had a mouth full of the spaghetti-O’s Dean had made for dinner. 

“Sammy,” his fifteen-year-old brother said, “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.” 

Sammy made a small show of chewing and then he swallowed dramatically, he even went as far as opening his mouth for Dean to be witness to its emptiness. Dean just stared back with tired eyes. 

It was early February and they were in Minnesota, so the air had a dry, frigid taste to it. It slowed both of them down and the snow outside made walking back and forth to school difficult. Dad had told them they were too old to be sharing a bed anymore when he wasn’t there, so this was the first time they had sleep separated. Sam went to bed in his bed, on the side closest to the other, and shivers until the space around him heats up. Dean struggled without Sam's furnace-like heat next to him. 

Dean sighed, “Yes, Sam?” He put down his fork and rested his right arm on the table along with the other, meeting Sam’s gaze. 

“Where is Dad?” It’s a question that forms on Sam’s tongue and tastes familiar. He’s asked it a lot in the past. That never stops him from asking again though. 

Dean doesn’t answer though, he ignores the question Sam left floating in the air and stands up. The elder of the two brothers puts away his bowl and fork, rinsing them both and setting them in the sink for him to wash later, and walks to the bathroom. Sam’s eyes follow him the whole time. 

Sam sets his fork down, too, and tries not to flinch at the sound of the bathroom door shutting harshly. He fails. 

Dean couldn’t answer the question because all he could think about was what had happened when Dad got home last. Sammy hadn’t been there, he hadn’t seen… Dean takes a deep breath and sits on the closed toilet seat. He puts up a mental blockade, but it's useless. The memory is imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, he tastes it before bed each night and he feels it when he showers. The memory won't leave him the fuck alone.

**ii**

Sam had been on his way home from school when John came home from the hunt and said they had to leave. Sam usually got home at 3:30 every day because they lived in the motel closest to the school, it was an easy walk for Sam and Dean hadn’t stressed too much about walking there and meeting him. 

He’d been waiting back at the room to let John in. Their father had called that morning and in a gruff voice told Dean to have their stuff ready for a quick leave that morning. Dean asked about Sam, who was already in school for the day at that point, and said that they would make that stop before they left town. Dean agreed because there was no other option. 

So Dean packed everything and tidied up the room to pass the time. It had been a quick hunt, their father said when they arrived less than a week ago, and so Dean hadn’t bothered enrolling in the school. Sam begged until their dad gave in, the little bugger had a way of doing that. Dean had finished everything before lunchtime, and Dad still hadn’t shone. 

Dean waited and waited. It wasn’t until just before 3 o’clock that he heard the doorknob on the motel raddle. Dean waited, the window was positioned so that he could barely get a glimpse of the person standing there. Should he open it anyway? 

“Dean, op-puh-hen the fuc _ king _ door!” his father called out. There was something about his voice that was odd but also familiar in a way. It wasn’t a new thing, but it was just… odd. He couldn’t figure out what, it was there on the edge of his thoughts. 

“Yes, sir!” Dean said and unlocked the deadlock, he pulled the door open and mindfully stepped over the salt line he had made after their father left. Now, it was almost ritualistic how he would put the salt lines down on all window sills and in front of every door they are staying in, it’s something his father has instilled in him. 

John stumbles in and trudges through the salt, messing up the even line. Dean watches it happen and can’t help feeling a small stab in his chest, but that was stupid, so he brushes it away as best as he can. 

“I couldn’t… fuck.” John collapsed on the bed, falling down into a sitting position, and reaches down to grab at the laces of his shoes. Dean takes a deep breath through his nose and he realizes what was wrong with his father; it’s a stench of alcohol on his father that he smells. 

“Dad,” Dean says softly, bending down to help his father take off his boots. Dean feels a little stupid for not seeing the signs earlier of his father’s drunkenness. 

“No, I don’t-” he burps and covers his mouth. For a second, Dean thinks he’s going to puke, but he must swallow it back because he continues talking with a voice thick with emotions “...I  _ can’t _ .”

Dean is at his father’s side then. He was driven by the need to help his father and a burning curiosity to know what prompted his father’s most recent alcoholic binge. 

John started moving his shoulders and his tongue fell out of his mouth and he started panting, tongue out like a dog. Dean might have found it funny if his concern wasn’t skyrocketing. He realized that John was trying to get his leather jacket off so Dean grabbed the collar and tried to help him. 

“She looked like you…” he mumbled, tongue back in his mouth but not helping much with pronunciation. 

“What?” Dean asked, bending in front of him to pull the other side down as well. He stood on John’s left side, bending in front of his intoxicated father to do so and was close enough for the smell of alcohol on his breath to be strong enough to make Dean’s eyes water. 

“The girl I couldn’t save…” his father said, his voice weighed down with heavy guilt. Dean understood what had happened then, Dad couldn’t save the victim and to block the guilt he’d drank. He leaned forward as Dean straightened back up, almost following Dean. “She looked-” he hiccuped, “-like you…” his eyes rolled to look at Dean. 

However, there was something there that Dean did not like. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it served to fill his stomach with unease. So he instead, busied himself with getting his dad ready for bed. He’d have to sleep off the alcohol in his blood before he would be driving Sam or him anywhere. John fell backward until he was lying on his back with his legs still dangling on the bed.

Dean felt around to see if his father had any weapons on him, he found a knife and a gun. Except the gun was tucked into the back of his jeans and was dangerous there. Now, Dean figured the safety was on, but he didn’t want to take the chance for his father to move in his sleep and accidentally blow his ass off. Dean wiped the smirk from his lips. 

John had raised his left arm, nearly hitting Dean, to rest it next to his head on the bed. Dean was pretty sure that his father was sleeping or nearly there, so he didn’t really worry about feeling his way until his father to get the gun there. 

“She was… like you…” his father slurred. 

“Yeah, Dad,” Dean agreed, not knowing what he was saying. He learned that just agreeing with his father was better than trying to decipher anything his father said to him. 

“And I couldn’t..” he hiccuped again, but Dean thought it might have been a sob as well. His father only cried when he was drinking or drunk. “I couldn’t save her… I couldn’t save..  _ you _ .” 

This made Dean pause for a moment. So some chick dad couldn’t save who looked like him made Dad think he couldn’t save Dean? The son looked at his father’s slack face and tried again for the gun, mumbling an “I’m right here.” 

Dean just gets his fingers and then his hand wedged under his father when the man sat up abruptly. It made Dean jump up because he thought his father was nearly unconscious completely, but the boy couldn’t jump back far because the hand that had been by his head came down and grabbed Dean’s hip. 

“Uhh,” Dean mutters, trying to step away. Now that he was sitting up, Dean could grab at the gun he’d felt before. If only his father would let him go-

“You’re right,” he purred, “You  _ are _ here.” John leaned forward and rubbed his cheek affectionately against Dean’s neck, scratching with his couple day-old stubble. 

Dean tried to jerk back, he tried to say  _ what the fuck, Dad?! _ but was shocked into silence when his father’s other hand came up and grabbed Dean’s other hip, holding on tightly. Dean tried to buck away and instead felt his father’s lips on his neck that caused him to cringe into a full-body shudder. 

“Dad, stop it!” Dean cried, putting his hands on his father’s shoulders and pushing away. All he could think was how  _ wrong, wrong, wrong _ this was. 

Dean did push hard enough to get away. He stumbled back and fell down, his tailbone and back spiking with pain for a moment, but he barely registered so. He was still reeling from the whispered feeling of his father’s hands and lips on him. 

“But I can save you now,” John moaned out, he reached for Dean again. 

With a sickening punch to the stomach, Dean noticed a tenting in his father’s jeans. What the fuck? The fifteen-year-old asked himself, when the fuck did things change?

John stepped up, towering over Dean. Instincts kicked in and Dean scrambled to his feet, not wanting to give John the opportunity to  _ be on top of him _ . Once standing, Dean took a breather, thinking the weirdness was over. 

John must have mistaken him for someone else, Dean thought, it’s happened before. Because John saw so much of Mary their oldest son, John calls out for her sometimes at night when his eyes are open and looking at Dean. The first time it happened Dean went to the bathroom and cried because he knew he must cause his father a lot of pain every time he looked at his son. But he’s never asked about it, him and his father… they don’t talk about those kinds of things and Sammy was still too young. 

John was not done though as Dean had hoped. His father lurched forward and grabbed at Dean, to which his son let out a cry in surprise and turned to step away. Dean knew better, he cursed himself out for putting his back to the enemy. Not that he ever wanted to refer to his father as an “enemy”. 

John grabbed the 15-year-old by his shoulders and pulled him towards him. Dean stood as tall as his shoulders, and he bucked and tried to get away from his father, but the man was surprisingly nimble in his intoxicated state. John’s grip on Dean was tight and the boy’s skinny arms couldn’t break their hold. 

Dean’s back bowed away from John when he felt his father’s erection poking in between his buttcheeks. Dean’s cry was louder this time, it was a dry sob of frustration at his father’s advances and his own inability to break free. He was a hunter, dammit, he should be able to get past him. Dean bucked and kicked and shook as violently as he could to break away from his father’s hold. 

All the while, John was bent over, breathing into Dean’s hair and moaning as the boy’s movements gave him the most  _ glorious _ friction on his leaking prick. 

“Dad!” Dean yelled, beyond frustrated. “Please... Please stop!”

John’s voice in his ear sent waves of disgust rolling through his body and mind like a cloud of thick smog, “Mhmm, you like that, don’t lie…”

“No,” Dean sobbed now, no tears came yet, although his eyes burned. “I don’t... Please…” 

Dean suddenly remembered, as if the thought was just “placed” in his mind, the documentary on National Geographic Channel that Sam had been watching a week or so ago. It was at the last motel, and it was right after Dad had just left. Dean remembers with a strange clarity at that very moment what the show had been about. 

Crocodiles and their strategies for getting their prey. Dean remembers Sammy watching, completely raptured and Dean sat back and attempted his algebra homework, something that he never finished. The narrator had been saying  _ The reason crocs do this is for overpowering their prey.  _ Dean thought about it, how it was showing pictures and videos of these long creatures rolling until their prey was either underwater or away to be eaten.  _ The  _ death roll  _ isn’t just and underwater activity. If a croc gets into a fight with another croc, or even a human, he’ll use the death roll to overpower his adversary- _

_ To overpower his adversary _ , Dean thought harshly and spun quickly on his feet. The boy’s momentum threw John off balance and his grip slackened and dropped long enough for Dean to jump away, also unsteady on his feet from the spin. Dean gasped when it actually worked and stumbled forward. 

John must have recovered half a second sooner though, before Dean could get too far away, his hands closed around Dean’s hips once more. Dean screamed this time, his emotions and frustrations coming out in that burst, tearing from his throat and ringing in his ears. 

John picked him up, the 15-year-old light in his arms, and tossed him on the bed. Dean’s back bounced once, twice when he first landed, and his legs automatically splayed open to balance himself, the corner of the bed in between his legs. 

John moaned when he looked down and Dean cringed. He didn’t like this at  _ all _ and wanted to be literally anywhere but here. Dean struggled as soon as he was stable to get off the bed and again he was almost away when his father had straddled him. 

In his struggles, Dean flipped over on his stomach. John threw his entire weight down and pinned his son underneath. Dean struggled the hardest he has yet, and still… John had at least 100 pounds on the scrawny teen. 

“Dad, please!” Dean wailed, scratching at the comforter on the bed. He kicked and he tried to twist, but his father’s weight was too much. He couldn’t buck him off and Dean soon grew tired. 

John rutted against Dean’s ass, getting the friction he needs to race to the edge. Moans of pleasure tumbled from his lips as he pressed his jean-clad erection over and over into the soft but firm mounds of Dean’s ass. 

“Oh..oh..oh!” John yelled, getting closer and closer. 

Dean buried his face into the bed, breathing in the smell of cheap detergent and faint undertones of sweat. He sobbed dryly but didn’t cry. He was helpless and his legs and arms were too tired to continue to struggle, it was useless and he couldn’t think straight to get out of his position logically. He still moved and tried to fight back, up until he realized that by doing so he was pleasuring his father more. Dean’s throat closed and he struggled to breathe, How had he gotten here? How had things gone so wrong?

Then he thought of Sam and how the kid was on his way here from school.  _ Please, fuck, don’t let Sammy see this!  _ He pleaded with whatever force was out there. He begged and hoped with all he had left that Sam had stayed after for a little bit, that he hadn’t just come straight home, and that the door wouldn’t be opening soon-

“De-ah-hn!” 

Dean froze. John had called out _his_ _name_ when he finished. Which means John knew who he’d been doing this too... It wasn’t another drunken misunderstanding. John didn’t think Dean was someone else.

John did this to Dean  _ knowingly _ . 

Dean wanted to puke, but he swallowed it back and waited until his father moved. 

John stayed where he was for a couple of bated breaths, and then he slumped forward, his head resting next to Dean’s, the weight of him crushing Dean and caving the middle of the bed in so had it dipped and Dean couldn’t help but press his cheek to John’s ear. 

Dean groaned and felt the fight drain out of his father, the body on top of him becoming more dead weight than alive. Dean wiggled some and John didn’t move, Dean knew his father was finally asleep now. 

It was a massive struggle, but Dean got out from under the unresisting John. With sickening horror, after Dean was standing up and looking down at his father, that he felt the wetness that made his shirt stick to the small of his back. Dean tore his shirt off fast enough for his ears to burn where the collar got stuck but torn past anyway. Now shirtless and on the other side of the room from his father, Dean noticed the wetness on his shirt was right where John had been sitting those few seconds before he had passed out. 

Tears did come then, when Dean made the connection. The wetness on his shirt and the wetness he can still feel on his back is his father’s cum. 

Bile came up in Dean’s throat and this time he couldn’t swallow it back, good thing he’d been standing next to the kitchenette’s little sink. Dean emptied everything then, all of the distress and disgust over what had happened. It all went down alongside his lunch when Dean rinsed it down. 

**iii**

Dean got out of the bathroom and Sam had been standing there, waiting for him. The kid startled the teen, actually, but he’d never admit to that. 

“Jesus, Sammy. What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, putting his hand on his small shoulder and steering him towards the kitchen to finish eating. He noticed that Sam’s plate hadn’t been finished and the kid needed to eat. 

“What were you doing in the bathroom for so long?” Sam looked up with big doe eyes. 

Dean tried to smile, but it may have looked more like a grimace. The question was like a stake through Dean, pinning him and not letting up. Dean’s breath stuttered for a moment but then he’d had his reaction controlled again. “None of your business,” Dean replied coolly. 

“You’re lying,” Sam mumbled, his voice lowered. 

Dean pushed the kid towards his chair, “Finish up, kiddo. You need your strength to grow big.” The bigger brother moved to the kitchen sink and started to run some warm water, letting it run to heat up. He might as well wash up the few dishes now to pass the time. 

“Dean,” Sam said, irritation floating in. Dean would have smirked if it was any other situation, the tone seemed too old for the little mouth it came out of. At least, Dean thought of Sammy as too young still. “I know you were crying in there…” 

Dean whipped around to stare at his brother. “No, I wasn’t!” Dean denied. Panic crept up and bit into his bloodstream like a venomous snake. He couldn’t let Sammy know, if Dean ever died for anything, it would be to keep his little brother safe from the memory of their father doing  _ that _ . 

“No, I know you are lying now! Because I heard you-” 

“Sammy!” Dean snapped, his voice reverting the room to a momentary quiet. It was a creepy and uneasy silence that seemed to startle the two of them more than Dean shouting. Dean trembled.

When he saw his little brother open his mouth to argue more, Dean struck with the killing blow, “Sammy, you are being nosy. Now shut up and stop being a whiny brat!” 

Dean turned, shut the water off, and stormed toward the bed closer to the door. His duffle was there and he dug out some clothes and marched to the bathroom once more. The panic in him hadn’t let him stop to say anything else, hadn’t let him apologize to the only person in the whole world who didn’t deserve it. But if Sam ever found out-

Dean started shaking when the bathroom door shut and didn’t stop for a long, long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave some kudos or comment below! I really appreciate the feedback I get. Constructive criticism is always welcomed! 
> 
> A new thing that I would like to mention is that I have a Tumblr now! It is https://only-useless-fanfictions.tumblr.com/ and I would very much appreciate the follow! I'm still really new and have no idea what I am doing, lol, but I'm on the map now!
> 
> Something else that I'm not sure many people know about me is that I take prompts! I can write just about anything for Supernatural, any pairing or kinks. You can comment your prompt down below or email me at uselessfanfictions.writing@gmail.com or you can hit me up through Tumblr! Any way that I get the prompt is great, and I will let you know if I can do it. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, you are all wonderful!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a little continuation of the first part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I plan on setting this up is there will be different timestamps into Dean's childhood of what John does to him over the years. Each one will be a new work and they will all be tagged into this series.
> 
> For everything that happens to Dean, Sam will get a little bit more suspicious. The more Dean tries to hide it, the more curious Sam gets. I'm thinking that each work will be two parts, one that is in Dean's POV of it actually happening and then the second in Sam's POV of him learning something new, such as this one. 
> 
> I'm not sure how long it'll be, but as I said before, I have tons of ideas. If you guys have ideas, then let me know! I am always accepting new ideas on how to make my stories go. 
> 
> Please enjoy,

**iv**

Later that night, after Dean had come out of the shower, he found his brother curled up in his bed. Dean got dressed - sure to be quiet just in case Sam was actually sleeping and not faking it - and walked to the kitchen table. 

Sam’s plate was cleared and in the sink. Dean looked at the pan on the stove and saw a little bit of the Spaghetti-O’s in there still. He hadn’t eaten much and his stomach squeezed and gurgled hungrily. The boy grabbed a fresh plastic spoon and started eating right from the pan, he wasn’t picky and he didn’t care that they were cold. 

Sam turned over in his sleep and made a whiny noise. Dean looked up and watched his brother’s sleeping form move under the thick blanket with the spoon gripped loosely in his right hand. 

Sam was in the bed closest to the wall, as per usual, and Dean had to sleep in the other one. The bed close to the door. Dean looked over at the neatly pulled blanket over the top and the fluffed up pillows. Dean had made the beds, of course, they never let room-service inside. 

Dean had cleaned the bed after John left last night. After he’d slept the whole night after he’d- _No, don’t think about it._

He was no longer hungry. 

Dean took a deep breath to calm the rush of fear he got. It was like adrenaline, but it hit harder and left him with sweaty palms and weak legs. He looked over at the bed and the phantom feeling of Dad’s sticky cum on his back was there again. 

Dean dropped the fork in the pan and turned away, towards the sink. He bent his head forward until his eyebrows were pressed into the cool counter. Dean took a deep breath and tried to will away the sudden nausea that just hit him. 

He didn’t want to sleep in that bed. 

The night before John had crashed there, and Dean couldn’t have slept anyway. Every time his eyelids close, all he sees is Dad crowding into his personal space and all he can hear is his moans. He can’t- He doesn’t want to deal with this. He wishes Sammy wasn’t here because he would get Dad’s bottle of Captain Morgan from on top of the fridge just so he could fucking sleep. 

But what if something happens in the night? What if something evil tries to get in and harm Sam? Dean has to stay sober enough to protect his little brother. He’ll also have to sleep soon because it’s been almost 24 hours before he slept last and Dean can feel it. He feels it in the heaviness of his arms, the unwillingness to stay open his eyes are, and how it feels like his head is going to fall off his shoulders. Just roll down one arm and keep going. 

Dean swallowed the excess saliva that flooded his mouth and tasted like stale Spaghetti-O’s. His throat constricted and he felt the bile racing to get out. Instead, Dean swallowed it back with a light groan. His knees buckled and smashed into the cupboards in front of him, Dean cursed silently and lowered himself to the floor. 

He looked over to Sam again, seeing the uninterrupted rise and fall of his chest. The noise hadn’t woken him up and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he loved his little brother, he didn’t need more of his questioning. 

Fuck, why had Dad done that? 

Dean looked up at the ceiling and tilted his chin upwards. His hands shook when they reached up to rub at his face. It’s the first time he’s asked himself that. 

The weight that covered Dean’s shoulders was massive and overcoming. The teen didn’t think he’d be able to hold on to it for much longer, even now, he wanted to scream. Dean felt it rise up in his chest, demanding to be let out and dealt with. 

His eyes welled up and Dean kicked his legs forward. He didn’t make much noise, but he wanted to. He wanted to wake the whole world up because fuck its sleep. Dean can’t sleep, so why should it?

Then he looked at Sam and knew that he couldn’t do that. The world didn’t have to sleep, but Sam did. Dean wouldn’t care if anyone else got a single damn thing they wanted again, as long as Sammy got the whole world. 

Dean sighed to himself. He wasn’t okay now, but he’d be. Right now, though, he was going to sleep here. It was easier than even looking at that bed anymore. 

**v**

Sam rolled over in bed and groaned, but it came out high pitched and squeaky. He didn’t want Dean to know he was awake, so he went with it. Sam’s been faking sleep since he was 9, that was two whole years ago. 

If he squinted just right and kept his breathing even, something he’s mastered, he’d be able to watch Dean in the little kitchen part of the motel room. He hadn’t fallen asleep yet because he wanted to talk to Dean some more before bed, but the boy was cold and had crawled into bed. Next thing he knew, he was dozing off and only woke up when the bathroom door had opened. 

Sam snuggled a little more into his pillow and watched through barely opened eyes as his brother walked to the kitchen stove. Sam watched Dean look into the black pan there and his left hand pat at his abdomen. Sam usually does that when his stomach growls so maybe Dean’s hungry?

Sam’s little question is answered when Dean starts eating them. _Ew,_ he thinks quietly, _why was he eating them without reheating them? They had to be cold and gross by now. Not that they tasted too good when they weren’t cold._

Dean’s back was to the beds for a moment, so Sam opened his eyes fully to really look at his brother. He saw Dean’s elbows resting on the countertop and how he leaned wholly into them. His head hung between his shoulders and he didn’t move much other than his right hand to put more spoonfuls of food in his mouth. 

When Dean looked back at the beds, Sam made sure to close his eyes quickly but not like he was holding them closed. Sam slowly pulled air in and out of his lungs through his nose and held still under the covers. Was Dean still looking over? He had no way of telling. 

He heard Dean move, something dropped? 

Sam cracked his eyes open and Dean was again turned with his back this way. This time, he was standing with his hips pressing into the counter and supporting his weight on his arms in front of the sink. 

Dean made a noise that Sam thought wounded animals made on some of the documentaries he watched on the motel’s small TVs. Was he hurt?

Sam almost sat up to ask Dean if he was okay when there was a loud bang from that end of the room. The noise was loud and sounded harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Sam had jerked in the bed. Something shot through him hard when he saw Dean whip his head over this way as his arms slipped on the edge of the sink. 

Sam closed his eyes quickly and didn’t hold his breath or Dean would be able to see that he was faking. Dean was observant and he would know if Sam slipped at all. 

It was a while before Sam opened his eyes again. When he did, it was little slits that were just enough to see Dean sitting with his back to the cupboards below the sink and with his legs sprawled out in front of him. His chin was tilted up and his eyes were closed. 

He looked sad. 

That revelation hurt Sam, once he thought it, he knew that Dean was upset over something. Obviously, he had been earlier because he’d heard his big brother cry but this was different. This wasn’t him hearing Dean’s hiccupping breaths through a door. 

This time he watched Dean’s shoulders shake and his lip quiver. The room was small and Sam wasn’t that far away. He saw Dean’s hands shake and his own hand come up to cover his mouth. 

He was crying. Sam was seeing his older brother cry. 

It hurt Sam to watch this, but he couldn’t look away. It hurt him because Sam didn’t _understand_. And he wanted to, he wanted to hurt the sonovabitch that made his brother cry like this because as strong and fierce Dean tried to be for Sam, the kid knew that even Dean got to be happy. 

Dean’s eyebrows scrunched down and he rubbed at his eyes a little hard. Sam thought that maybe he looked angry now? Did crying like that upset him more? 

Then Dean thunked his head backward, making that banging sound again and his eyes immediately flicked over to Sam. Sam couldn’t squeeze his eyes shut this time or Dean would definitely know, so instead, he just hoped he looked like he was sleeping enough. 

He must have because Dean wasn’t saying anything. Dean rubbed a hand down his face and wiggled a little bit before letting his eyes drop closed. 

Was Dean sleeping there? 

Sam watched for a little while longer. He watched his brother twitch a little bit here and there, move his legs when they were no longer comfortable. He must have been really tired - like the kind of tired Sam is sometimes that he can fall asleep in his desk - to be able to sleep there. Why wasn’t Dean using the bed next to the one Sam was in? 

After a while of Dean not moving, Sam almost fell into sleep twice but he’d determine to watch his brother while trying to figure him out, Sam knew he fell asleep. To test him, Sam opened his eyes all the way and didn’t get a response. Dean’s eyes still remained closed and his head falling forward a little. Sam sat up slowly, grimacing when the springs of the mattress creaked loudly, and still, Dean did not move. He was really sleeping. Sam got up and walked towards his brother. 

“Dean?” Sam whispered. He wasn’t going to let his brother sleep on the floor like that. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him or why he wasn’t using the bed, but Sam didn’t like it. 

There was no response, not even a twitch from the older boy. 

Sam’s eyebrows scrunched together and he walked closer to his brother. Up this close, he saw how Dean’s hair was still a little damp from his shower. He could see the fresh tear trails on his cheeks, too. 

Sam whimpered in the back of his throat, this unknown sadness filling him on the inside. He wanted to know why Dean was so upset and why he wasn’t sleeping in a bed. It was more than just curiosity, though, he cared about Dean. Dean hurting hurts Sam. 

Sam knelt down beside his brother and sat on his heels. “Dean?” he whispered louder. 

Dean still didn’t move. 

Sam was starting to get really concerned now, he felt it creep up his back and whisper bad things in his ears. Why was Dean not moving? Was something _wrong_ wrong? What if he wouldn’t wake up ever again? Would he go away like Mom did? Like Mom did when she _died?_

“‘Ammy?” Dean’s eyes fluttered open to look at his kid brother. 

Sam looked down and put both his hands on Dean’s shoulder, crowding in his face. Dean’s head lifted up and his eyes opened more fully to look at Sam. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief. 

“What’s wron’?” Dean’s voice was slurred a little bit with sleep. 

“Are you okay? Did you fall or something?” Sam didn’t really think he fell because he knew the sound that had startled him was Dean’s knees hitting the cupboard. He didn’t really understand why Dean would run his knees into the wood, but he knew it wasn’t Dean falling. He watched Dean sit down and fall asleep. 

“No,” Dean mumbled and sat forward, arching his back. Sam didn’t think sitting the way he had been was any comfortable. 

“Then why are you sleeping on the floor?” Sam moved so that he was sitting criss-cross-applesauce style next to Dean’s right leg. 

“Uhh..” Dean scratched at the top of his head, no longer looking at Sam. 

Sam thought that was a little strange, but he didn’t want to question his brother further. This wasn’t 20 questions or anything. The eleven-year-old knew that his brother was upset, he didn’t want to make it worse. 

“I just don’t,” Dean shrugged and still didn’t meet Sam’s gaze. 

“Okay,” Sam said. He stood up, stretched his back and his legs for a breath by standing up on the balls of his feet, groaning out as he released his muscles, and then rocked back on his heels. 

Sam kneeled down and turned around. He pressed his back into the cupboard on Dean’s left. He puffed out a breath and scooted over until his right shoulder was pressing into Dean’s left arm. 

“What are you doing, Sam?” Dean sighed. Sam would have thought Dean was actually annoyed with him like he tried sounding had he not seen his brother’s pleased smile only a second ago. 

“You want to sleep here, then so will I.” 

Dad had told Sam and Dean that they were a little too old to be sleeping in the same bed anymore and Sam didn’t really understand why. Dean wasn’t hurting him and he wasn’t hurting Dean, so why had his father said to stop? Actually, Dean told Sam they couldn’t sleep anymore and when Sam had asked why he said that Dad had told him. But this was different, they weren’t sharing a bed. They were just sleeping next to each other on the floor. 

“You don’t have to,” Dean turned his head to look at Sam. 

Sam shrugged and smiled at Dean. “I want to,” he lied.

Sam was surprised to see Dean’s eyes become shinier. That always happens to the people in the movies before they started crying. Why had Sam made his brother cry?

The kid opened his mouth to ask his question but was interrupted by Dean wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Sam rested his head immediately into Dean’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, Sammy. Means a lot.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some kudos or comment below! I really appreciate the feedback I get. Constructive criticism is always welcomed! 
> 
> A new thing that I would like to mention is that I have a Tumblr now! It is https://only-useless-fanfictions.tumblr.com/ and I would very much appreciate the follow! I'm still really new and have no idea what I am doing, lol, but I'm on the map now!
> 
> Something else that I'm not sure many people know about me is that I take prompts! I can write just about anything for Supernatural, any pairing or kinks. You can comment your prompt down below or email me at uselessfanfictions.writing@gmail.com or you can hit me up through Tumblr! Any way that I get the prompt is great, and I will let you know if I can do it. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, you are all wonderful!


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